


Coffee's for Closers

by theletterelle



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, Religion, Salvation Show, revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:04:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theletterelle/pseuds/theletterelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's all about the show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee's for Closers

“Brothers and sisters!” says Pete. It echoes off the canvas walls. “Brothers and sisters! Why have you come here tonight?”

There’s an incoherent roar of response. Pete flings the microphone cord out of the way and strides to one side of the stage. “You’re here because you feel sick.” A cheer. “Sad.” Another cheer. “You’re here because you have realized the emptiness, the loneliness, the futility of a life! Lived! Without! Jesus! Christ!” More cheers, a few shouted Amens, applause.

“He knows, brothers and sisters, He knows your need of Him. He knows the emptiness you feel inside, and He knows, He _knows_ how to fill it up.” Adam’s lurking in his place by the side of the stage. Pete can feel him watching, and mops sweat from his face.

The audience is full tonight, the last night of the revival, and Pete’s already been preaching for an hour. Tonight’s when they’ll collect the most money, the offerings pouring in as if to buy one more night of the show, just one more night of screaming hallelujah and singing for salvation. Tonight’s when they’ll strike the tent and steal away, heading down the road for the next town, the next show, the next sale. Tonight’s when Pete has to give it his best.

“Do you hear Him?” Pete’s voice drops so low that even with the mic, people strain forward to listen. “Do you hear the Lord coming to you? Do you feel the Holy Spirit in your heart, in your body, filling you full of God’s love?” He shouts then, and as one the audience jumps. “Do you want to feel the love of Christ? Brothers and sisters, will you let Him into you?”

“Yes, Lord!” shouts a man, leaping to his feet, his hands up. “Oh Lord, I feel you, I feel your blessed love!”

“Praise God!” a woman screams, her whole body shaking. “Praise Jesus, praise you oh praise you, you are worthy, oh Lord you are worthy!”

Others begin to stand, to shout and dance in the aisles. Faces are flushed, bodies jiggle and writhe. A few fall to their knees, crying. Pete glances at Adam with a broad smile, but Adam’s expression is professionally blank. He’s seen this before. They all have. Their livelihood depends on it. Pete, though, Pete can’t get over it. He’s never more alive when standing in front of a congregation, shouting the words they need to hear. “Praise you, Jesus!” he bellows.

It’s the cue for Brendon to strike up the band. “Then sings my soul, my savior God to Thee,” Bill warbles. “How great Thou art! How great Thou art!” A woman faints, and Adam and Patrick move out to pick her up and take her to the recovery room. Spencer’s there to catch the next one.

It’s time for the altar call, before the rest of the room collapses. “Brothers and sisters, won’t you come forward? Won’t you dedicate your lives to Christ, the one man Whose love never fails?” Bill switches to “Just a Closer Walk With Thee;” Brendon segues into it neatly. “Won’t you open yourself to Him? Give yourself to the Man who bled and died for you, Who allowed them to pound the nails into His hands and feet as He lay on that cross, to thrust the spear into His side so the blood and water flowed out and sanctified all of us, rescuing us from our own sin. We are washed in the blood of the Lamb, saved by His holy grace.”

The trickle of people becomes a flood. They’d rush the stage if security wasn’t there to hold them off. A few are babbling in tongues, overwhelmed by their own emotions, and Adam and the rest of the catchers are hard put to keep up with the fainters.

Pete knows he shouldn’t do it. He can’t help himself. He reaches out to the hands stretching for him and grasps as many as he can. “Lord Jesus!” hollers a man, and falls over. It spreads like dominoes. Pete can almost see the power flickering through them, from one to the next. Some just fall to their knees and shake; others gaze up in holy ecstasy. More fall backwards, struck down by the power of God. Or of Pete.

It’s time to begin winding down. “Our Father Who art in Heaven...” Pete prays for fifteen minutes, imploring God to send his spirit down onto the masses, begging the congregation to stand strong for Jesus, telling them everything they want to hear. “Bless You, Lord Jesus,” he ends. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen.”

He leaves the stage amid the ecstatic wailing of the crowd. Once off, he grabs a bottle of water, drains it, and grabs another one. “Towel,” he says to the air, and someone puts one into his hand. He swipes at his face. His hair is soaked and dripping down the back of his neck. His shirt smells like he slept hard in it. He needs a shower, a beer, and a blowjob, in that order.

“Good show tonight,” Pete says as Brendon passes by. Brendon grins. “All about the benjamins, baby.” Pete shakes his head. Brendon is a dork. That’s not what it’s about at all.

Well, maybe that’s partially what it’s about. Joe’s counting the money, and Andy’s banding the bills to go in the lockbag. “It was a good night,” says Andy. “Where are we going next?”

“Oklahoma, I think,” Pete says.

“Great. They eat this shit up.” Andy locks the bag up and opens another one.

Pete doesn’t get his shower, but he sponges off in a rest stop bathroom when they pull the buses over for a break. They’re out, so he doesn’t get a beer, but he gets a Pepsi from the machine and it’s cold and fizzy, so it’s almost as good.

Back on the bus he flops onto a seat in the back lounge. He’s tired, but the caffeine and the leftover adrenaline are making his bones buzz. Joe’s already out, fallen into his bunk like a rock. Andy’s almost there; it’s not more than two minutes before he waves and stumbles into bed. Pete’s left alone with Adam, now that Brendon and Bill have switched to the band’s bus for an impromptu party. Adam sighs and leans against the seat back, rubbing his eyes.

“Why are you so tired?” Pete asks. “I’m the one who was jumping around and screaming all night.”

“I dragged at least ten people into recovery,” says Adam. “One of them had to be three hundred pounds. That’s a lot of dead weight to move.”

“Huh. Yeah.” Pete finishes the last of his Pepsi. “You don’t look big enough to do that.”

Adam shrugs. “I do all right.”

Onstage, Pete can do anything. He can manipulate the crowd with a smile, a raised eyebrow, a modulation of voice. Offstage? He’s a mess. He learned long ago to go with it; that skill with the masses doesn’t translate to skill at interpersonal relationships. He didn’t get his shower, or his beer. So he says “Wanna blow me?” and hopes Adam’s amenable.

He is. Adam shrugs and drops to his knees between Pete’s legs. “You stink like ass,” he observes as he undoes Pete’s pants.

“Smell of money, baby,” is all Pete says as he leans back.

Adam’s good with his mouth. He starts out slow, licking carefully down the shaft and back up. Pete hums encouragement. Adam swirls his tongue around the head, and it makes Pete grunt.

He’s so much more articulate onstage.

Adam can’t deep-throat, but that’s okay; Pete’s just as happy if he keeps up with the licking. “Oh God,” he says. “Fuck yeah.”

Adam pulls off long enough to say “Shut up,” then latches back on, sucking Pete’s cock like it’s a straw in the sacramental cup. Pete groans softly, but doesn’t try to talk again. He groans louder when Adam grips his balls gently and runs his thumb across each one.

Pete doesn’t believe in much. He trusts in the power of money to get him what he wants, and the effectiveness of thinly-veiled sexual metaphor to get people to give it to him. What he never remembers is the power of actual sexual contact. Right now he’d do anything for Adam, blow him, let Adam fuck him in the ass, anything as long as he can keep this feeling. People use the phrase “better than sex” a lot. They’re full of shit. Nothing is better than sex.

Adam bobs his head up and down, and Pete’s balls draw up to his body. His legs stiffen. He pushes up from the seat and clenches his jaw on the yell as he comes. Sensation flashes behind his eyes. He shudders as he falls back, his fingers clutching uselessly at Adam’s head.

Adam goes to the bathroom to spit. Pete doesn’t care. His sperm isn’t the blood of God, and he’s certainly not the body of Christ. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips up.

“Seriously,” says Adam when he comes back in. “Shower. Look into it.”

“Asshole,” Pete grumbles, flopping to his side. “Where are we going again?”

Adam looks out the window, which makes no sense since it’s dark, but whatever. “Oklahoma.”

“Where are we now?”

“Arkansas.”

“Cool.” Pete rolls onto his back. “You should go to bed.”

“Yeah.” Adam lingers at the door for a second. He looks like he’s going to speak, but turns around and closes the door behind him.

Pete considers following, but his bunk smells bad enough as it is. He doesn’t need to add to it. He falls asleep on the seat, the screams of the crowd still ringing in his ears. “Praise God” is the last thing he hears.


End file.
